


May 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angel Dean Winchester, Angst, Consensual Possession, Demon Dean Winchester, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-04 00:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 challenge ficlets for the month of May.





	1. One-Hundred Twenty-Two: Trim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can almost physically hear the sound of Sam’s eyes rolling, and just grins wider at the disgruntled huff he gets. “Just… trim it. You know what I like, Dean, don’t do something weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haircuts and soft brothers!!

“C’mon, give me some inspiration.” Dean’s smiling, carding his fingers through his brother’s hair to loosen up the last of the tangles as Sam gets himself settled. The towel is already draped around Sam’s shoulders and the scissors are nearby. They’ve even lucked out enough to find a hand-mirror. “I’m thinking… Van Halen with more body.”

He can almost physically hear the sound of Sam’s eyes rolling, and just grins wider at the disgruntled huff he gets. “Just… trim it. You know what I like, Dean, don’t do something weird.”

“I don’t know, that’s a whole lot of trust you’ve got there.” But Dean sighs and bites back his smile and pretends like it’s a burden as he grabs the scissors and starts quietly snipping away. He’s not an expert by any means, but a decent haircut at a barber shop will cost them a meal, and he doesn’t like cutting corners on essentials when he can just do this on his own. 

Besides, it’s almost relaxing. Sam goes soft and trusting under his hands, and when Dean circles around to mess with his bangs, his brother’s eyes have slipped shut. He doesn’t so much as flinch when Dean’s fingers brush his neck or his ears or his cheeks, carefully picking out which hairs to cut and how short. Their dad would be happy for Sam to crop his hair right down, but Dean knows how much the kid likes growing it out, and that’s how they’re going to keep it until he changes his mind. He can’t deny that he likes it when Sam’s hair is long enough to run his fingers through, anyways.

A few final snips of the scissors, and Dean brushes some loose tufts of hair from Sam’s shoulders. He bites his lip, offering Sam the mirror as his fingers skim between silky strands almost obsessively, hoping it’s acceptable. “Good?”

Sam’s eyes open and he’s quiet for a moment, tilting the mirror this way and that and Dean’s never done a particularly  _bad_ job at this, but it doesn’t make him any less nervous. But then Sam smiles and tilts his head back to look at Dean properly and it’s like all the tension melts away at once. “S’good. Thanks, Dean.”

So Dean breathes out a relieved sigh and puts down his scissors and goes about cleaning up, one eye on the way his brother touches his hair with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he’s not half-bad at this, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. One-Hundred Twenty-Three: Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes off early in the morning without a word. He’s been living with Lisa long enough that she doesn’t question it when he vanishes like this, and even if they hadn’t reached that understanding, he can’t imagine he’d be able to tell her where he was planning to go for the day.
> 
> Really, he doesn’t even know until he hits the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a sad, painful thing re: Sam's birthday. Post-Swan Song.

Dean takes off early in the morning without a word. He’s been living with Lisa long enough that she doesn’t question it when he vanishes like this, and even if they hadn’t reached that understanding, he can’t imagine he’d be able to tell her where he was planning to go for the day.

Really, he doesn’t even know until he hits the road.

The Impala runs warm and smooth under his hands, her purr all too familiar even after months of disuse. There’s a sense of guilt heavy in his chest that he tries to push aside, even as the empty passenger’s seat screams accusations out of the corner of his eye. He keeps his eyes on the road and the radio off. Sam was always happiest when it was quiet.

Dean isn’t sure how long he drives, but the city fades into countryside, and the countryside fades into something that’s almost the wilderness. The highway is empty but for him and his baby, and when he spots an unmarked dirt road curving off into a forested area, he doesn’t think too much before he takes it. The sun, only just rising, filters away through the trees above and leaves him in partial shadow, rare glints of light fracturing off his ring. 

When he finally stops the car and turns off the engine, it’s quiet. There’s a moment of peace that feels a little too empty, absent one set of lungs and a beating heart. Dean gets up all the same, grabs his cooler from the back. Lets himself out of the car and just tries to breathe.

His brother always used to bug him about going camping, and this drive is just too little, too late, but maybe for a few seconds he’ll be able to pretend like he isn’t utterly alone.

He cracks open two beers because he’s been opening Sam’s since the kid started drinking them in the first place, sets the spare by his feet and slowly eases himself down to sit down, leans against the side of the car with his bottle dangling between his fingers. Tips his head back and looks up for a moment, thinking about Heaven and Hell and everything that Sam really deserved to have in this life.

“Happy birthday, Sammy,” he murmurs. Closes his eyes and reads fire and pain on the backs of his lids, fingers going tight around his beer. His voice cracks when he speaks again. “Happy fuckin’ birthday, little brother.”

Sam deserves so many fucking things for all the good he’s done in the world. He deserves to be happy, deserves to be safe. Deserves the normal life he’d always wanted and the wife and the dog and the fucking picket fence. Everything that Dean could never really give him, no matter how hard he tried.

In all his years, even across every mistake he’s ever made- Sam never once deserved this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. One-Hundred Twenty-Four: Similar Features

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean reminding John of Mary.
> 
> (the title is a Melissa Etheridge song because...???)

Dean has her eyes.

That’s the first thing that John notices. That he starts to pay attention to; that jumps out at him every time he looks at his eldest son after they lose Mary. He’s got her pretty green eyes, and he’s fair-skinned the way she was, and as he grows older, John will watch as he grows up to look just like his mother.

He loves the way she did, too. Fiercely, protectively. Curls around his baby brother and holds his hand through the terror in their world, speaks low and gentle when Sammy needs it or sings to him when he’s scared. There’s so much of Mary in little Dean that it’s hard to see, sometimes- harder still because there’s that tiny, niggling thought at the back of John’s head where he wonders if Dean emulates her on purpose. Tries to take her place for John and for Sammy.

In Sam, the similarities come later. They come in his endless curiosity, in the way he won’t accept anything without question. In his quick wit and sharp tongue and bullheaded stubbornness contesting John on every decision he makes. He’s infuriating, he’s frustrating, and he’s just exactly like his mother, and maybe that reminder is why John snaps so quickly with him.

(Dean playing the peacekeeper reminds him of her in a whole different way, and John can never decide which of the pair of them hurts more.)

They’re the only reminder he has, sometimes. They’re his boys, they’re his purpose in life and everything he has to protect. And in those moments when Dean smiles all soft or Sam looks at him with just the right amount of skepticism or the both of them take care of each other-

In those moments, they’re also everything he has left of the love of his life. They’re his little piece of Mary, and they’re what keeps him going when it matters most.

It’s hard not to just close his eyes and pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. One-Hundred Twenty-Five: Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is struggling through his last breaths and Dean’s lungs are still clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody was writing nice Samulet codas after 11.20, so I decided to go ahead and write something horrible instead.
> 
> Suicide mention and also some MCD, so... tread with caution?

Sam is struggling through his last breaths and Dean’s lungs are still clean.

He hates this. Fucking  _hates_ it; feels like he’s in Cold Oak all over again as his brother’s life is taken away before his eyes. He’s powerless, can’t even fucking die along with Sam because that’s just his damn luck and the fog isn’t affecting him. No matter how deeply he tries to breathe it in, it has no effect, passing through his lungs cool and moist but utterly harmless.

“I’m not leaving you,” he breathes out again. Sam might be past the point of hearing him, now, but his eyes are half-open and that’s enough for Dean. “I’m never leaving you, Sammy. No matter what.”

Sam’s the one leaving this time, though, and there is no other option for Dean but to follow.

He waits until Sam goes. Until his chest stills and his fingers go limp in Dean’s, the light fading from his eyes. It’s too familiar a scene but Dean makes himself look anyways, takes the spot beside him on the floor and pulls Sam to his chest. He doesn’t want to leave Sam alone for one second and shaky fingers press against a quiet pulse point to make sure.

Dean’s gun is easy in his hands and he doesn’t really let himself look. Knows the feeling of the barrel pressed cold up under his chin, an echo of the hardest days. Of seeing his little brother die one too many times and wanting a ticket out, an excuse to stop. To step back and let someone else deal with things for once.

They’ve been doing this long enough. It’s time for someone else to save the world.

“Not leaving you,” he whispers, and his eyes slip shut. “I’ll be there soon, kiddo. Just wait up.”

Wherever they end up, at least they won’t be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. One-Hundred Twenty-Six: Mother Goose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t have very many memories of his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is. a sad thing. Loosely based on this thing that happened at camp with a goose who was guarding her eggs even though they weren't going to hatch and it just. makes me SAD OKAY

Dean doesn’t have very many memories of his mother. Most are blurred, a slur of blonde curls and the smell of home. He tries to grasp at them, sometimes, but there’s always a sense of apprehension to it- as they exist, his memories are purely  _good._ They’re warm and comforting and familiar, everything he needs of his childhood to cling to something he used to know as  _normal._ Few of them house any real details, and many remain entirely indistinct from the rest.

One, though, always stands out from the rest. Perhaps it simply stuck with him as a child, or perhaps he’s made some conscious decision to hold onto it. It shouldn’t really be anything special, either; a day at the park with baby Sammy in his stroller and Dean clinging to his mother’s skirt, following a little path along the edge of a lake. Sunny and warm, late springtime. He remembers the freshly-trimmed grass and the flowers clinging to the edges of the lake, his mother’s humming and Sammy’s coos.

Most of all, though, he remembers the goose.

A mother goose, specifically. Perched on her nest by the bank of the lake, tucked under an overhanging tree and watching every passerby with a certain wary skepticism to her. They walk this path often, and the only reason Dean remembers this is because of the conversation that permeates the whole event.

“Why’s she still sittin’, Momma?” he’d asked, tugging gently on her skirt to get her attention. Pointing at the goose, wings neatly folded in, nest tidy underneath her body. “All the other babies’re born!”

Dean remembers his mother’s hesitance, the way she’d glanced between him and the mother goose a couple times before responding. She’d crouched down to his level, one hand on Sammy’s stroller while she spoke in soft tones.

“Her eggs aren’t going to hatch, sweetheart,” she’d said, a sadness in her eyes that Dean hadn’t really been able to grasp at the time. “Some people.. don’t like that she’s made her nest here, and they made it so her babies won’t be born.”

And Dean had only been three or four years old at the time, but to this day, he can’t forget the crushing sense of grief he’d felt with the words. He’d looked at the mother goose, protecting and warming eggs that would never hatch, babies she would never raise, and tears had sprung to his eyes, completely unbidden. 

“Why not?” he’d whimpered, and that had been as much as he’d managed before bursting into tears. As much as his mother had tried to soothe him, he’d been inconsolable, and they’d headed home shortly after. They stopped walking that path after it happened, and Dean never did find out what happened to the goose.

He hasn’t thought about her in years. Between hunting and Stanford and getting Sam back, she’s slipped into the recesses of his memory, set aside as unimportant, but now-

Now Sam’s body is laid out in front of him, cold and still, too pale and too quiet and he can’t breathe. He speaks and he cries and holds Sam’s hand, clings to it tight like with enough effort, with enough warmth and love and whispered prayers, his brother will come back to him. Sam’s eyes will open again and everything will be okay.

Instead, he’s the mother goose, clinging to the thin hope of life where only death remains. He’s powerless here, can only replay the moment in his head a million times with Sam’s hand cradled, cold and unresponsive, between both of his.

Dean can’t help but wonder whether or not she gave up. If she walked away from her ruined eggs or simply sat atop them until she faded into nothingness, too.

He doesn’t feel like it’s much of a choice to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. One-Hundred Twenty-Seven: Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s been watching over Sam for what feels like forever, but in reality, has been a mere few decades, a tiny fraction of the life he’s lived. Sam Winchester has been his most important assignment, though, and Dean had known as soon as he’d re eagled himself to the hunter that he would gladly lay down his life for this single, tiny human. Whether it was Sam’s selfless nature of the tragedy of his life or purely how close they’d become, Dean could no longer imagine an existence in which he wasn’t at Sam’s side, and when it comes to hunting-
> 
> Well, hunting isn’t entirely conductive to keeping people alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel!Dean. Consensual possession is very important to me. And this is like... post-Sacrifice.

He’s been watching over Sam for what feels like forever, but in reality, has been a mere few decades, a tiny fraction of the life he’s lived. Sam Winchester has been his most important assignment, though, and Dean had known as soon as he’d revealed himself to the hunter that he would gladly lay down his life for this single, tiny human. Whether it was Sam’s selfless nature or the tragedy of his life or purely how close they’d become, Dean could no longer imagine an existence in which he wasn’t at Sam’s side, and when it comes to hunting-

Well, hunting isn’t entirely conductive to keeping people alive.

The trials wreak havoc in Sam’s body, and Dean can do nothing but watch the gradual deterioration from the outside. He watches as Sam’s soul is beaten and battered, cracked and damaged but never broken. It makes him ache for the man, enough to entirely dissuade him from finishing the job when it comes down to the very stark reality of needing to exchange his life for the cause.

What Dean doesn’t expect is that it might be too late.

The hospital has nothing to offer, and Dean’s powers are useless on all but Sam’s external injuries. Alienated from heaven and left with no other options, Dean talks himself into the unthinkable.

The inside of Sam’s head is quiet, with no hint as to the angelic war being waged out in the world. Sam himself seems quite peaceful, sitting alone in a nondescript room. He seems like he’s been waiting, and Dean is quiet as he approaches.

“So this is it, huh?” Sam says, and he sounds entirely too relaxed for Dean’s liking. “Guess my ticket to heaven only goes one way this time.”

And Dean can’t quite bring himself to speak for a moment, shakes his head. Steadies himself and straightens up a little more. His voice is low and soft as he speaks, pleading. “There’s another option, Sam. There’s another way.”

 _Yes_  feels like something that’s been coming for a very long time, and Dean savours every second it takes to spread himself through Sam’s body. He can feel the damage now, a low ache somewhere in his being as he wraps his grace around Sam’s soul and cradles it close. He feels himself in the tips of Sam’s fingers and the bottoms of Sam’s feet, in the back of his head and the centre of his chest. He feels himself entirely enveloping Sam and protecting him from everything the world has to offer, and he knows that things will be better this way.

The doctors call it a miracle, and Sam leaves the hospital within hours.

“I think this could work,” Sam tells him on their way out.

Dean doesn’t need to say a word now, warm as he quietly starts to mend Sam’s soul.

_I think it already is._

He thinks maybe it was how they were always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. One-Hundred Twenty-Eight: Bloody Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least Sam doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's eyes are bleeding in Bloody Mary, too, and it's never really explained. :?

_It’s your fault._

Dean’s so absorbed in trying to get to his brother that the words don’t even really register at first. When his vision blurs, though, he stumbles, reaches out blindly to try to steady himself and only succeeds in toppling another mirror. It shatters on the ground and he pushes on, searching desperately for Sam.

_He didn’t trust you. He never did, and he never will again._

It’s warm, feels almost like he’s crying, and when Dean reaches up, scrubs at his face, his hand comes away smeared with crimson. Bloody Mary’s got his number, too, but it doesn’t matter right now. Sam’s the one taking the brunt of her wrath right now and that just isn’t gonna fly. 

_You let it get to Sam._

The shtriga will always sit heavy in the back of his mind, and Dean knows the voice- his own voice, grating and harsh where it echoes all around him, seems to originate from every direction at once even as it centres with his reflection in every mirror shard around them- is right. He knows it’s his fault, and he knows that he could have very well gotten his baby brother killed that night. He’s never going to forgive himself for it, and he doesn’t really think his dad is going to, either.

At least Sam doesn’t know.

_He knows._

Sam’s solid under his hands and they stumble through the rest of the hunt together- destroy Bloody Mary with her own curse and leave no worse for wear. Sam seems shaken, and though Dean presses to find out what big secret he’d been keeping, Sam stays quiet about the fact that Dean’s eyes were bleeding, too.

Things are probably better that way, so he doesn’t linger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. One-Hundred Twenty-Nine: Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most kids like Christmas the best, or maybe Halloween. Some will claim that their birthday is their favourite day of the year, even though it doesn’t really count as a holiday. Easter has chocolate, and so does Valentine’s Day, but none of them stack up against Dean’s favourite day of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother's Day. Dean is tiny and this is soft.

Most kids like Christmas the best, or maybe Halloween. Some will claim that their birthday is their favourite day of the year, even though it doesn’t really count as a holiday. Easter has chocolate, and so does Valentine’s Day, but none of them stack up against Dean’s favourite day of them all.

Mother’s Day, he’s learned, is a very special holiday. Like most holidays, it only comes once a year, and like most holidays, it involves presents and celebration. What makes it really, truly special, though, is that it exists to celebrate the single most important person in the world.

He wakes up early that morning, climbing out of bed and being extra-quiet as he sneaks out of his room. He knows his momma’s still asleep, ‘cause she likes to sleep late on Sundays (sometimes, he’ll crawl into bed and cuddle with her, too, but he’s got a job to do right now), and he doesn’t want to disturb her when she’s sleeping in. He’s got stuff to get ready, and with any luck, his daddy’s already up drinking his coffee so he won’t have to do it alone.

Just as Dean’s guessed, he’s not alone when he gets to the kitchen, and he gets a fond smile from the man as the two of them start getting everything prepared. His daddy takes care of the cooking ‘cause Dean’s too little to use the stove, and Dean’s put in charge of makin’ the flowers pretty and arranging them in their little vase.

Dean leads the way back upstairs once they’re ready to go, hugging the vase carefully to his chest when he steps inside. He hears his momma shift around a little in bed, and approaches quietly with his dad just behind him before climbing up into the bed.

“Momma,” he whispers, flowers clutched close to his chest. He crawls up and sits by her head, petting her arm gently. “Momma, guess what’s today?”

A smile grows on her face slowly, and her eyes open a moment later, pretty and green. She looks sleepy and content and Dean doesn’t hide his smile. “Hm, I don’t know. Sunday?”

Dean giggles, shakes his head. He sets the flowers on the bedside table with the utmost care before turning back to his mom, and then he’s wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, snuggling in close. “No, Momma, s’Mother’s Day!”

“Really?” She laughs, hugs him back as she starts to sit up. Dean can hear his daddy coming closer, too, feels the bed shift as he sits down. “Is that so?”

“Yeah!” Dean nods adamantly and pulls back enough to give her a very serious look. “An’ you’re the best momma  _ever_ , so you get flowers!”

It’s enough logic for him, and she seems entirely happy with it, too, hugging him once more and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “That’s very sweet of you, angel,” she says, just soft, and Dean wiggles happily with the nickname. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Dean recites in return, and snuggles close to her side while his dad gets their little breakfast arranged. The best holiday of the year, he’s sure, and he bets his momma thinks so, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. One-Hundred Thirty: Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean first slips inside, he makes himself very small and very quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for consensual possession.

When Dean first slips inside, he makes himself very small and very quiet.

He knows that he doesn’t belong here. Moral ambiguity aside, there’s a  _pureness_ to Sam that makes him want to curl up in some distant corner of his brother’s body and try very hard not to ruin it. It’s not in his nature, though, and his corrupted soul seeps through every crack, spreads through every vein and curls around its battered and bruised and  _clean_ twin. 

Sam’s soul is bright and warm in its entirety. It is scarred and damaged but it is  _whole_ and unmistakably pure. As Dean’s possession runs deeper, he finds himself surrounding it, cradling it with his entire being because if absolutely nothing else, he will keep it safe.

His little brother is a saint for letting him in to begin with. If Dean is going to make a home under Sam’s skin, if he is going to stay here and protect his only reason to live from the inside, then he is going to do it gently. 

Sam’s soul has been through enough abuse. Demon or no, Dean isn’t going to allow that to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. One-Hundred Thirty-One: Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is scared of fire for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of pyro!Dean.

Dean is scared of fire for a very long time.

He’s seen what it can do. Knows the power its flames have to lick away at anything and everything until it’s reduced to ash and smoke-stained memories. He’s watched fire take away his home, his mother, and his childhood, and for years afterwards, he can’t bear the thought of it taking away anything else.

Things start to change when fire introduces itself to him at the age of nine, because suddenly there’s a lot less to lose and a whole lot of evil in the world.

Fire doesn’t discriminate. Fire can and will consume everything in its path, and there’s a purity to it that Dean finds himself slowly falling in love with- the way it breaks everything down to its purest, simplest form and leaves nothing but miles upon miles of ash and cinder in its wake.

When Dean starts to light fires on his own- outside of hunting, outside of learning how to destroy a corpse or bury evidence- he watches grass and leaves and old magazines crisp and curl into nothing, watches them blow away in bits and pieces on the wind, and he wonders if maybe his mom’s out there, too, free and at peace in a million tiny carbon ashes scattered on the breeze.

His dad doesn’t like it when he says things like that, so Dean learns to stay quiet. It’s probably best that John doesn’t know where all the matches are going, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. One-Hundred Thirty-Two: Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there’s one thing that Dean has learned about Sammy as he gets older, it’s that he asks a whole lot of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those questions that Sam had for Chuck were honestly just too precious.

If there’s one thing that Dean has learned about Sammy as he gets older, it’s that he asks a whole lot of questions.

“De?” he’ll say, eyes big and curious with his fingers curled in the hem of Dean’s shirt. The kid barely reaches his elbow and Dean kind of just wants to gather him up in a hug and never put him down. “De, why are all t'planets round?”

And Dean will furrow his brow and purse his lips and think, and then he’ll answer, reaching down to ruffle Sammy’s hair, entirely too affectionate. “‘Cause circles are the best shape, Sammy. God likes ‘em best, so he made all the planets big circles.”

Sammy will bite his lip and think real hard, and then he’ll nod seriously and smile big and give Dean a tight hug. “Thanks!”

And then he’ll run off and Dean will be left smiling and everything will be good.

“Dean,” Sammy whispers sometimes in the middle of the night, when they’re curled up together in bed, “Dean, what’s goin’ on with ears?”

And Dean thinks about it for a long moment, mulling over the problem and hugging Sammy to his chest and trying to decide how to respond.

“Y'know…” And then he reaches up and catches Sammy’s earlobe between two fingers and rolls it between them playfully. “I’m pretty sure they’re just weird.”

Sammy giggles and squirms around in his arms until they’re facing each other, tucks his head under Dean’s chin. “'Kay,” he whispers back. “Thanks, Dean.”

And then he falls asleep in Dean’s arms, and Dean is left holding the most important person in the world, and thinks that maybe it’s okay if he doesn’t really have all the answers as long as he has this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. One-Hundred Thirty-Three: Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy’s the one who fires his gun on time, and for a long moment in its aftermath, everything is too quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kink bingo fill for my "cuddling" square. Also inspired by a game of spn cah. I had to do a haiku, and it was "my first kill / a moment of silence / copping a feel". So... Weecest?
> 
> ((I know that's not a real haiku but I had to work with what I had shhhhh))

Sammy’s the one who fires his gun on time, and for a long moment in its aftermath, everything is too quiet. 

Sammy’s shaking, and Dean’s breathing hard, sprawled out on rotten floorboards where his foot had gone right through, landed him on his ass at a critical moment. Their dad’s just watching from the other side of the room, eyes glued to the body on the floor where the werewolf’s gone down after Sam’s shot.

“Shit.” Dean’s the first one to speak, barely a whisper, and he can’t stop staring at his little brother. His little brother who’s too young to even be on this hunt to begin with, who only had his gun as a precaution- who’s just fired a bullet and  _killed a monster_ and none of them seem to know what to do about it.

John recovers a little faster and he straightens up, lowers his gun and exhales slow. “Good shot, son,” as if it’s nothing but target practice, and there’s none of the pride on Sam’s face that should be there. None of the brightness that comes with a perfect shot in training because everything is suddenly, horribly real.

They don’t speak much after that, and John dismisses the both of them to the car while he cleans up the mess. Dean almost protests, insists that he can help- stops short when he looks back towards his little brother, looking lost and small and scared. He doesn’t say a word as he moves towards Sam and leads him outside.

Sam seems absent, allowing Dean to nudge him along all the way into the back seat but not offering him much in the way of conversation or acknowledgement. Dean’s worry grows with every step and by the time he crawls in after his brother and shuts the door behind him, it feels like it’s trying to claw its way right out of his chest.

“You okay?” he asks, low and soft, and he’s just about to say  _fuck it_ and pull Sam into his arms when Sam does it all on his own with a little more vigour, as Dean finds himself with a lapful of baby brother and a desperate, messy kiss pressed to his lips.

Dean doesn’t know what to do besides kiss him back, so he  _does-_ even though he shouldn’t, should be doing anything at all besides encouraging this. Sam’s too raw right now, obvious in the heaving of his chest and the way his fingers are trying to find purchase in Dean’s hair, in the taste of his lips and the tears Dean can feel against his own cheeks. Sam’s in no state to make decisions right now but there’s nothing Dean can do to say no.

“Please,” is whimpered against his lips, and Dean doesn’t have much of a choice at all.

He holds Sam like he’s at risk of having him taken away, grips his hips tight enough to paint bruises into his skin, and the kiss turns almost violent, too many teeth and the taste of salt of copper when their tongues meet. It’s not what they’re used to and Dean doesn’t know how to handle this, really, but Sam needs him right now and Dean’s going to do everything in his power to help.

He doesn’t know how long they go on like that. Dean needs to pull away eventually because he can’t breathe between Sam’s half-formed sobs and his own crushing sense of helplessness, and then they’re both gasping, panting, clinging to each other with foreheads bumping together and forever too much space between them.

Sam settles down against him within a few moments, and they’re both quiet. Dean starts petting his brother’s hair mindlessly, one arm loose around his middle while he tries to get comfortable. Sam’s still a small enough kid, but Dean needs to do a whole lot of shuffling around before he’s settled, sprawled out across the full length of the seat and leaning back against the door.

“Don’t tell Dad?” Sam asks as if it’s something that needs to be said, and Dean just nods and holds him a little tighter. 

Sam’s tears have dried and he’s almost asleep by the time John returns, stinking of smoke and charred flesh. He doesn’t say a word, pausing only long enough to nod at Dean in the rearview mirror before he’s starting the car. The engine’s purr is the last straw, and Dean’s eyes slip shut, too, sinking a little lower in his seat and hugging Sam like it’s the only thing he has left.

He decides that they both need this, anyways. Dean falls asleep wondering how much Sam has left to lose, and decides that it isn’t nearly enough. It just becomes that much more important that he protects it in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. One-Hundred Thirty-Four: Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s never actually had the chance to speak to him. It’s not so much that he’s unapproachable; in fact, it’s more the exact opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of feelings about Demara. This is a little college AU thing. It's just. a soft.

She’s never actually had the chance to speak to him. It’s not so much that he’s unapproachable; in fact, it’s more the exact opposite. 

Dean Winchester is, as a matter of fact,  _very_ approachable. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s popular- he’s everything that anyone could ever want, and Amara finds herself entirely enamoured by him. That doesn’t make him any easier to try to talk to, though; it feels like he’s always occupied with someone else, any one of his group of friends, and no matter how irrational it feels, she can’t help but hang onto the fear of rejection were she to try to approach him.

So instead of risking embarrassment and a ruined image of this seemingly perfect boy, she watches from a distance.

Photography has always been a hobby; people are easier to understand through a camera lens, easier to pin down to shapes and colours without all the noise and chaos of the real world. It’s how Amara prefers to see things, and though pictures can never quite capture Dean in such a way to really do his beauty justice, she can certainly try.

Dean is best captured in candid, and it’s all the better for her shyness. Caught in the middle of a sentence, laughing, running his fingers through his hair- there’s something loose and easy and  _free_ about Dean that she’s never really encountered before, certainly not with her family. It’s fascinating and wonderful, and she can only be thankful that she’s always done this- wandered around campus, people-watching, finding herself little snapshots of day-to-day student life- because there’s nothing odd about following him around, as long as she’s careful.

Dean is beautiful from a distance, but try as she might to keep herself away, Amara can’t help but wonder what his freckles look like up close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. One-Hundred Thirty-Five: Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is tiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song in particular makes me very sad and I don't know why. Mary and tiny baby Dean.

Dean is tiny. He’s got big eyes, but the rest of him is almost unbelievably small; tiny feet and tiny ears and tiny little hands that Mary never wants to stop holding. He’s three weeks old and fits perfectly settled on her chest, dozing against her in a rare moment of quiet content. She holds him and she smiles a tired smile and she sings in a crackling whisper.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey…”

She knows that this is more than she deserves, really- that after a life of bloodshed and secrets, she should have to go out the way every other hunter does, quick and violent. John doesn’t know a damn thing, doesn’t have the slightest clue that he’s been living on borrowed time for five or six years now. Doesn’t know that the hands she uses to cradle their infant son are only newly softened after years of callouses, of guns and knives and fire.

This isn’t where she belongs. This isn’t the world she was raised into, and there are times, still, when it feels wrong.

When she has little Dean in her arms like this, looking content and beautiful and perfect in every imaginable way, it’s a lot easier to forget that.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…”

He is tiny and soft and entirely too delicate for the life she used to live. Mary pets her fingertips over a tiny apple-round cheek and feels the tears start to slip free as she whispers the last line. A prayer, a plea. A desperate bid to whatever higher power could possibly be listening to her.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. One-Hundred Thirty-Six: Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why’s he cryin’, Momma?” Dean asks, brow furrowed and trying to climb up into her lap to get to his little brother. “Why’s he cryin’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean comforting his little brother.

“Why’s he cryin’, Momma?” Dean asks, brow furrowed and trying to climb up into her lap to get to his little brother. “Why’s he cryin’?”

His momma just smiles at him, reaching out to run a hand over his head as she rocks Sammy in her other arm. Sammy’s squirming, crying, rubbing at his face and seeming entirely too distressed for things to be okay. “He’s a baby, sweetheart. Babies cry a lot when they’re overwhelmed or upset.”

Dean bites his lip and frowns and finally manages to get up in his momma’s lap, stops to look down at Sammy for a moment before leaning in close to him. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he says, because maybe Sammy’s just too little to understand that nothing’s wrong. “You’re okay, you’re fine. You’re fine, Sammy, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

He keeps repeating the words, over and over again, one hand petting at Sammy’s tummy, and slowly, the baby starts to calm down. Sammy stops crying and his eyes get all big and curious and then he reaches out to bump his hand against Dean’s cheek.

“You’re okay,” Dean tells him again, nodding firmly like it’ll drive the message home. He hears his momma laugh, and feels her press a kiss to the top of his head, and pats Sammy one more time. “You’re okay.”

-

“You’re okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers at Cold Oak, cradling Sam’s body against his chest, too still and too quiet and sticky-hot with too much blood. “You’re fine, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re  _okay_.”

Things were so much easier when those words could make everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. One-Hundred Thirty-Seven: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day is warm and still and quiet but for the distant chirping of crickets. Dean’s happy to relax in the sun, laying back with his eyes closed in a soft patch of grass, dozing on and off. He can hear his brother rustling around nearby, and can’t help a smile; Sammy’s still entirely too excited by simple things like rolling around in an empty field, and Dean thinks it’s nice that he’s such a cute little kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small, soft Weechesters thing.

The day is warm and still and quiet but for the distant chirping of crickets. Dean’s happy to relax in the sun, laying back with his eyes closed in a soft patch of grass, dozing on and off. He can hear his brother rustling around nearby, and can’t help a smile; Sammy’s still entirely too excited by simple things like rolling around in an empty field, and Dean thinks it’s nice that he’s such a cute little kid.

Dean’s stretching, barefoot and toes wiggling in the dirt, when he hears Sammy crawl closer, and his brother flops down beside him with a happy little huff. Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but a moment later he can feel tiny fingers and something cooler and stiffer brushing through his hair. He stays still, all the same.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Sammy doesn’t respond for a moment, and Dean peeks one eye open to see the serious, concentrated look on his brother’s face. “Makin’ you pretty.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that but lets his brother do as he pleases. It takes some time, and he feels some scratching against his scalp, something soft and delicate that tickles his forehead, but then Sammy’s making a pleased sound and moving back, patting Dean’s hand excitedly. “All done!”

Dean opens his eyes and sits up slowly, conscious of whatever’s balanced on his head now. He reaches up to touch it carefully and can’t help but smile when he feels soft flower petals under his fingertips. Looking down to his brother, sure enough, Sammy’s hands are stained green and yellow, dirt under his fingernails and looking very pleased with himself. “Pretty!”

“Am I a flower princess now?” Dean asks in all seriousness, shifting a little so he can reach out and pull Sammy into his lap. Sammy giggles and cuddles close and holds onto him tight. “Am I the princess of dandelions?”

“Yeah!” An excited nod and Sammy hugs him back just as hard. “The best princess!”

And hey, Dean figures that for the smile on his brother’s face and the simple, pure happiness he’s radiating, he can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. One-Hundred Thirty-Eight: Word of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first one, Dean picks up as a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A silly thing. A cute headcanon, maybe.

The first one, Dean picks up as a joke. A gag gift for his genius little brother; a silly word-of-the-day calendar because  _“you can never keep too many words in that big ol’ head of yours, huh, Sammy?”_  Sam, naturally, rolls his eyes and tells Dean he’s an idiot, while Dean grins and nudges him and buys him a pizza because it’s the kid’s birthday and hey, he can be a good brother, sometimes.

It’s not until he’s looking at it later, thumbing at the first page that’s already half a year late because Sam had to go and be born in May, that he actually flips it open.

_January 1st, 1996._  
Nomenclature   
1\. name, designation.

Dean mouths the word to himself, plays with the way it feels on his tongue until it makes a little more sense. Seems an awful fancy way to talk about something’s name, but that’s not so much his business so he lets it go.

“Hey, Sammy,” he says, not looking up. “What’s the, uh-  _nomenclature_  of that thing that turns into a monster on the full moon and eats peoples’ hearts?”

“Werewolf.” He can feels Sam’s eyes on him, but he’s too busy doing an internal victory dance to care. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

January 2nd gives him  _hubris_ \- the show he puts on for girls he’ll never see again. The 3rd is  _abrasive_ , like how Dad gets when he runs out of patience.  _Camaraderie_  is what they’ve got with other hunters, sometimes, even though they usually steer clear.

“So the witness said,” Dean says slowly, hesitating just a moment, “that her husband was paranoid? Is that- she said that?  _Verbatim?”_

John gives him an odd look, but nods all the same. “Yeah, that’s right. Said he thought something was after him.”

Dean tries not to smile too big. After all, he’s got almost five months of words to catch up on, so he’d better get good at sneaking them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. One-Hundred Thirty-Nine: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is an emotion that Amara does not recognize on Dean’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing with Amara looking at Dean's photos while she was in the bunker and stuff.

_Happiness_  is an emotion that Amara does not recognize on Dean’s face.

Of course, she recognizes  _Dean_ \- even decades in the past, even through a measly photograph that does little to capture the warm glow of his soul. He’s younger, rounder at the edges, and there’s something indescribably  _good_ about him that she can’t put a name to. He’s never really smiled in her presence, and brushing the pad of her thumb over the photo’s protective glass, it’s hard not to ache.

The woman is unfamiliar, but someone she instinctively knows. There’s goodness and kindness and warmth all around her, things she attributes more to Dean’s emotions than her own, and Amara doesn’t try to hide the way the corners of her lips try to twitch up into a smile. She’s alone here and it doesn’t matter.

Mary Winchester. Lost years ago to petty demonic activity, and perhaps the only one to potentially give Dean the happiness he’s void of now. She tries to feel envy, to hate this woman, but even the photo itself seems to be full of a love too pure to touch, and eventually, she lets it go.

Another piece of the puzzle that is Dean Winchester, and more questions to which she may never receive answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. One-Hundred Forty: Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first time that Dean has seen her truly damaged, and he’s caught off-guard by how badly it hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demara and stuff.

It’s the first time that Dean has seen her truly damaged, and he’s caught off-guard by how badly it hurts. 

Whether it’s an echo of her physical pain or just the empathy their bond forces upon him, he can’t help the way he stumbles forward a couple steps- doesn’t even realize he’s trying to reach Amara until his brother stops him. She looks broken, limping, bruised, slashes and burns carved into her skin; it’s  _wrong,_ it feels wrong and unnatural for such a powerful being to take damage like this and he needs to  _fix it._

Sam is holding him still and he can’t reach her. He can’t  _help her_ ; can’t do anything but watch and wait and  _hurt_  when Lucifer stabs her, when the pain flits over her face and she drops to her knees.

He shouldn’t feel this way, knows it’s the bond that’s sunk deep into his bones, coiled tight around every vein and artery, but it’s  _there_  and it’s unmistakable and he doesn’t think he can watch this much longer.

“It’s okay,” Sam whispers, and his hand is an anchor on Dean’s chest. “It’s okay, Dean, it’s almost done.”

His brother doesn’t get it. He doesn’t  _know_ , and he can’t possibly understand. But all Dean can do is keep his feet on the ground and let Sam hold him and do everything in his power to fight the ever-growing need to go to her.

It’s for the greater good. Things will be easier if he can convince himself it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. One-Hundred Forty-One: Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is lost after the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small Dean is small.

Dean is lost after the fire.

He feels like his entire world has been tipped on its side, leaving him slipping, stumbling, groping blindly for balance. For something to hold onto, to keep him here and kicking. Daddy says they’re just trying to get back on their feet, but Dean’s pretty sure that without Mommy around, there isn’t much of a point to trying.

But one day- one day, things start to make a little more sense.

“Can you hold Sammy for a minute?” Daddy asks him, offering Dean his sleeping baby brother. “I just have to make a phone call.”

So Dean takes this tiny infant into his arms and is reminded, suddenly, of carrying him outside. Of  _take your brother outside as fast as you can._  He looks down at pudgy little cheeks and tiny fingers and remembers that he saved Sammy. He did that.

Mommy isn’t around to look after Sammy anymore, and Daddy doesn’t really have the time or attention for it. Sammy is  _his_  baby brother, though, his to hold and take care of and protect.

Dean hugs Sammy a little tighter and thinks that maybe this will be enough to anchor him. A purpose and a direction when everything else is terrifying and uncertain.

The world levels out a little bit after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. One-Hundred Forty-Two: Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and there’s a part of me that hates you, dearest brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weird Stanford thing.

and there’s a part of me that hates you, dearest brother-  
because you have never been afraid to chase  
the wisps of freedom that i have always craved in this caged, immortal life-

  
(even if that means losing me  
in the process.  
you will never know how much that hurt.  
i won’t let you feel the loss  
of a brother walking away.)

  
-and how fitting that i was born with our mother’s colouring-  
a perfect match to the green-eyed monster that sits at the pit of my stomach  
every time i think of those years you lived alone.

  
i could never leave you behind, my love,  
and perhaps that was my downfall from the start.

(you deserve that freedom more than i could ever hope to grasp.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. One-Hundred Forty-Four: Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does not truly understand the beauty of humanity until he meets Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael/Dean stuff. 
> 
> (A note: ficlet number 143 was uploaded on its own a while ago. It's under the title "arterial spray" and it's in the 2016 365 series if you want to check it out. That's just the reason it isn't part of this work.)

Michael thinks that he will never understand the fragility of human skin- the ease with which it tears or breaks, the frail nature of the bone structure it protects. How easy it is to hurt a human, how simple to end their short lives if a single system were to fail, if too much pressure is applied to the right spot. He has always viewed such a delicate design with a certain degree of skepticism, and taking one of them as a temporary vessel with which to roam the Earth freely seems an unpleasant requirement. 

He does not truly understand the beauty of humanity until he meets Dean Winchester.

Dean is scared of him, at first. Does not understand the creature wearing his father’s skin, tries to fight him off or scare him away, and it’s all Michael can do to try to calm him. To heal his wounds and brush careful, gentle fingers- no telling how easily his vessel will break under rough movements- across the slope of Dean’s jaw, and he’s mesmerized; enraptured with the work of art standing before him.

Dean is everything his Father’s Creation is intended to be, and Michael knows, without a doubt, that this human- this  _boy_ , doe-eyes and soft lips and freckles mapped out in a thousand constellations across soft skin- is wholly, irrevocably, unquestionably  _his._

And more than anything, Michael aches to claim him. To leave this sub-par vessel and slip into Dean’s body; to curl around the warm radiance of his soul and cradle it. To protect it with all the wrath of an archangel of Heaven and render Dean’s human fragility inconsequential. Dean is  _his_ , his true vessel, his sword, the one being in all of Creation intended solely for him.

But the boy is scared of him, and he will not accept that.

“You will learn to trust me,” he murmurs with John Winchester’s mouth, and his hand doesn’t leave Dean’s cheek. It’s the only way they can communicate right now, and better than invading Dean’s dreams. That will come with time. “All in time. Take care, little one.”

But for all the show he puts on- the flash of lights, the way John wakes up disoriented and confused moments later, his own silence- Michael does not leave. He rests dormant alongside John’s soul, waiting and watching. Dean is uneasy, but it will change with time as the boy learns. Michael is more than happy to wait.


	23. One-Hundred Forty-Five: The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s always the little things that really get him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small Weechester/Weecest-adjacent thing.

It’s always the little things that really get him.

They could just be sitting together, eating breakfast, talking about everything and nothing while Dean keeps one eye on the clock to make sure they leave in time for school. Knees knocking together under the table, sentences punctuated with the sound of spoons scraping cereal bowls. One moment that blurs into a million others and it’ll just-

It’ll be something small. Something stupid and ordinary and absolutely  _normal_ , because there’s nothing special about the way Sam squints his eyes a little before trying to blow his bangs out of his face without putting down his spoon, but it’s just- 

Dean will be hit with this  _wave._ This feeling like he’s just been punched in the guy because he loves his little brother so  _fucking_ much, so much he feels like he’s going to choke on it, like he’ll drown in the affection he has for this brilliant, incredible, beautiful boy. His moon and stars and his entire fucking world is sitting in the fold-out chair across from him, shifting around a little because his shirt’s too big and it’s trying to slip off his shoulder, and Dean can’t even  _breathe._

“Dean? You ready?” 

And then just like that the air rushes back into his lung and Dean blinks, registers Sam getting up and grabbing his backpack and smiles and nods on autopilot. Plays like he didn’t just have an internal meltdown over the perfect boy who’s waiting for him at the door.

“Yeah, Sammy. Let’s go.”

It’s always the little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. One-Hundred Forty-Six: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s mother is standing before him and he can’t remember how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season eleven finale thing.

“Mom?”

Dean’s mother is standing before him and he can’t remember how to breathe.

She’s just exactly the way he remembers her, nightgown and all, and the only things missing are the fire and blood. She’s beautiful, every bit as perfect as she remains in his memory, and he doesn’t realize he’s moving towards her, drawn like a magnet, until suddenly they’re breathing the same air and it still feels too good to be true.

“Dean.” And she looks like she’s shocked, too, like she doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because she’s  _here_ , she’s here and- and she’s reaching up, fingertips brushing Dean’s cheek until she’s holding him, and he turns his face into her palm and shivers. 

He aches with how grateful he is, in that moment, for Amara.

“You’re here.” He doesn’t ask any questions, because he doesn’t want this beautiful illusion to shatter in front of him. She feels real and that’s good enough for him as he swallows hard around the lump in his throat, tries to think past the needy child, the little boy who clamours for his mother’s love. “You’re- god,  _Mom_ -”

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

He does, then- almost can’t stand it, feels too much like a dream- but she smiles at him, just a little bit, brushes her thumb over his cheek. It’s dark here, wherever  _here_ is, but he tries to pick out all the details in her face anyways, green eyes, freckles, faint wrinkles. They share so many features and he’s choked with it, can’t even think about everything else that’s just happened.

“We have a lot to catch up on,” she says, low and soft. Her thumb is still moving over his skin and Dean can only watch her, stunned silent in his awe. “But it’s going to have to wait a little longer, baby. Your brother needs us.”

Dean comes back into himself with a jolt. Stays right where he is but he’s alert, now, panic creeping in as he wonders what could’ve happened to Sam. “He-?”

“You’ll understand when we get there, okay?” Her smile turns a little wry. “Would’ve been too easy to just come back and relax. We’ll get there, I promise, but-”

And Dean remembers, suddenly, that his mom is a hunter.  _Was_  a hunter, maybe, but one who grew into the life, lived it from the day she was born. Remembers that he isn’t going to be alone in whatever they have to do to help his brother and feels something like relief that curls tight around his anticipation, his worry. Tries to breathe when she finds his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“For now- we’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. One-Hundred Forty-Seven: Ivory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s hungry, but it sure as hell ain’t the soggy Lucky Charms that’ve caught his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weecest.

He’s hungry, but it sure as hell ain’t the soggy Lucky Charms that’ve caught his eye.

Sammy’s all coltish beauty; mile-long legs and ivory skin that bruises like a goddamn peach. He’s still violet-yellow-green ‘round one eye after getting hit at school (Dean laid the asshole flat on his back and got suspended and doesn’t have one single regret), but it just serves to make him even fuckin’ prettier, and ain’t that something?

Maybe Sam knows exactly what he has to offer, because an oversized t-shirt that should belong to Dean is slipping off one slender shoulder, and the shorts should’ve gone ages ago- don’t do anything to hide soft, hairless thighs from eyes that should be directed anywhere but. Try as Dean might, it’s impossible to look away.

“De? You got my spoon?” he asks sweetly, and Dean nearly jumps, darts a glance up to candy-pink lips and too-long eyelashes most girls would kill for. “Gonna be late, big brother.”

So he hands his baby brother the spoon he’s holding- doesn’t even realize it’s his, that Sam’s already got his own and is smiling to himself, now- and tries not to stare while Sam finishes his breakfast. There’s something terribly erotic about his lips on anything at all, and Dean swallows thickly and shifts his weight and wonders which circle of Hell is reserved for people like him.

He’s sure he’ll find out sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. One-Hundred Forty-Eight: Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get very quiet once the hellhounds slink away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right at the end of 3.16.

Things get very quiet once the hellhounds slink away. 

Sam can feel them more than he can see or hear them; they’re a sharp, heavy presence that try to press the air out of his lungs every time he exhales. He fights past it, though; maybe it’s the promise of being the  _Boy King_  from his past, or maybe it’s because they’ve served their purpose here, but they don’t seem all that interested in his existence.

Not that it really matters. They could rip him to shreds right here for all he cares about the beating of his own heart.

Dean is utterly still on the floor, and it sits wrong in a million little ways. Dean’s always moving; pacing or fidgeting or chewing something or- or  _breathing_ , at the very least. But his chest is torn to ribbons and he figures, with a numb sort of acceptance, that his brother’s lungs are likely in similar shape.

He doesn’t remember moving. One minute he’s on the other side of the room and then suddenly he’s kneeling on hardwood, blood soaking into his jeans and it doesn’t matter. Nothing  _matters_  right now; nothing matters but the flat nothingness in Dean’s eyes and the flecks of blood on his face, on his gently parted lips.

Sam’s hand trembles when he tries to wipe it away, and he doesn’t try to stop it. Dean needs- he needs to be clean, because maybe then Sam can pretend-

And it’s not like Dean is going to say anything. What does it matter if he lingers a little too long, anyways?

He’s got a whole eternity of this hollow, deep-seated pain to look forward to. No reason to put it off any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. One-Hundred Forty-Nine: Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam moans just the same as he always used to, and that’s what Dean focuses on for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stanford. Angst + NSFW.

Sam moans just the same as he always used to, and that’s what Dean focuses on for the time being.

It’s dark and easy to pretend like nothing’s changed, like the rough carpet scraping his knees is part of their motel-of-the-week. Student housing smells almost the same, anyways- beer and sweat and broken ventilation. Not that he’s got much choice but to breathe through his nose when he’s got his mouth stuffed full of brother-cock; Sam’s gotten bigger, he thinks, tastes the same and sits just as warm and heavy on his tongue.

Fuck, but he wishes things were the same. 

“Dean,” Sam gasps out, and fingers scrabble at his hair. Too short to grab hold of, really, but Sam never seems to get the message when he’s this far gone, hips pistoning forwards like his orgasm is hiding somewhere at the back of Dean’s throat. “I’m- fuck, you don’t- I’m gonna-”

This is the same, too. So Dean grips Sam’s hips a little tighter and pretends like the bruises he presses into his brother’s skin will mark him as property. Like they’ll make him come home and bring everything back to the way it’s supposed to be. Sam’s painting his own brand, too, in thick, white come as he finishes down Dean’s throat, rough whines pulled up out of him the whole while.

He knows it won’t work. This won’t mean anything in an hour. In twenty minutes, even; they’ll go back to the fighting and the shouting and the “I don’t need you anymore” that got Dean on his knees to begin with.

Nothing is going to bring Sam back to him. Not really. But Dean’s a selfish bastard, so he’s gonna take everything he can get while he still can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. One-Hundred Fifty: Covet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Sam blames all those girls for being attracted to his big brother- after all, how could they not be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weecest-adjacent with possessive!Sam.

It’s not that Sam blames all those girls for being attracted to his big brother- after all, how could they not be? 

Dean is perfect, all clean-cut edges and softness where it matters. Pretty green eyes and plush lips and freckles that Sam is more than a little smug to know none of those girls have ever had the opportunity to count. His brother is brave and strong and graceful and  _good_  and anyone would be lucky to have him- to even earn his attention for a few seconds- but none of them are as lucky as Sam.

Even so, he doesn’t like to give them a chance.

Dean hasn’t noticed, yet. The way they’ll be out together- at the mall or getting food or walking to school- and how Sam will move a little closer whenever a girl looks at him too long. How he’s about six years too old to be holding his brother’s hand, but when he makes his eyes big and round and asks to cross the street together, Dean seems to be incapable of telling him no, his smile going soft and their fingers linking together.

It’s an intoxicating sort of power, the way Dean bends under his will. The way his brother will happily walk away from any pretty blonde thing if Sam says he wants to go home, that he’s hungry, that he’s tired. Dean’s eyes are just for him, but it’s always such a good fucking feeling to prove it, over and over again, while the girls who wish they were in his place are ignored every single time.

“Dean?” And sometimes he says his brother’s name just to see the way Dean snaps to attention, how his focus narrows in on Sam- fingers tangling together just as easy as Sam reaching for his hand. “Can we get ice cream?”

Maybe it’s wrong to play up his own role as Dean’s baby brother to win affection, but it doesn’t make it any less satisfying when Dean smiles, squeezes his hand. “Yeah, you got it, kiddo,” he says, and his eyes are full of adoration, the puppy-love that Sam knows is just for him.

None of those girls will ever see this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. One-Hundred Fifty-One: Whistle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean stirs at the sound of a whistle, just a soft exhale’s worth of sound somewhere to his left. He furrows his brow a little and tries to go back to sleep- he’s still too tired to want to move- but then the whistle blows again, a little sharper, and he sighs dramatically as he opens his eyes, squinting in the low, early-morning light at his little brother. “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters inspired by a Digimon thing. Kari communicates primarily via whistle when she's tiny and her brother talks to her normally and it's cute.

Dean stirs at the sound of a whistle, just a soft exhale’s worth of sound somewhere to his left. He furrows his brow a little and tries to go back to sleep- he’s still too tired to want to move- but then the whistle blows again, a little sharper, and he sighs dramatically as he opens his eyes, squinting in the low, early-morning light at his little brother. “Hi.”

Sammy’s still in his onesie, curled up in the curve of Dean’s body with his whistle between his pursed lips, soft, shrill sounds that Dean’s more than used to by now. Sammy smiles around the little instrument, and Dean gets another little puff of a whistle for the grand effort of opening his eyes. 

“Hungry, huh?”

One more short whistle, and Dean nods, yawning while he sits up, rubs at his eyes, and goes about tumbling out of bed. 

Sammy doesn’t talk very much. Daddy’s worried about it, sometimes, but Dean doesn’t think it’s a big deal. His baby brother communicates just fine- good enough for Dean to understand, anyways- with his whistle and his eyes, crystal-clear messages that are just the same as a conversation. It’s hard with other people, the ones who don’t understand Sammy the way Dean does, but Dean’s more than happy to do all the talking for his brother when he has to.

Sammy toddles up behind him while Dean stretches up on his tip-toes reaching for the bowls on the counter, preparing cereal for them both. Another toot of the whistle and Dean laughs, peeking behind him while Sammy’s short arms wrap themselves around his middle. “I know. Love you, too.”

The constant, soft whistles of Sammy’s breathing become his soundtrack for the morning, and he smiles to himself as he gets things ready. Who cares what other people say? It’s not like they understand that things are just fine as they are. Sammy doesn’t need to talk. Not as long as Dean is here to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last ficlet for this month (number 152) was uploaded separately under the title "Eyes Shut". It's also included as part of the 365 series for 2016, so that's where you can find it if you want to check it out.


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